Fuck.
It’s worse than I thought.
So much worse.
Hale accused me of caring, but it’s so much more than that.
I love her, and I was a fool to think I could ever let her go or let another day pass without seeing her, which only gives me one option.
I’ll have to wait.
I’ll wait until she’s ready for me.
Until then, I’ll keep watch until it’s time to make my move.
And then . . .
All bets are off.
CHAPTER7
Layla
Three years later
Ican’t help but look around at the tiny apartment I share with Zoey before I shut the old, rickety door with the broken lock behind me. Luckily the building’s outer doors do lock, so there is very little risk that anyone coming into this building would steal anything from us—not like we have anything worth stealing anyway.
All you have to do is take one look at our tiny one-room apartment to see how true that is. There is barely any furniture except for a stove, a microwave, a bed for Zoey, and a shared dresser in the corner of the room. Oh, and how could I forget to mention the couch I found on the sidewalk one day? I made my baby sister help me drag it upstairs. That little find became my new bed. The old floral pattern is outdated and in desperate need of a good cleaning, but despite how many times I’ve tried to wash the upholstery myself, its funky smell continues to overpower the room. Its iffy odor is a piece of cake, though, compared to the springs that poke my back every time I turn over throughout the night.
But the little apartment is all ours, as is everything inside it, even down to the rat droppings.
One day I’ll provide a better life for Zoey. My job as a waitress doesn’t pay enough for much else, but at least we are alive and safe, and most importantly, we have each other.
I still wouldn’t mind earning more money. I barely make ends meet as it is. Not that I would ever tell Zoey that. She doesn’t need to worry, especially after everything she’s been through. I promised myself I would protect and care for her, and that’s what I did and intend to continue doing.
So even though I was still a kid myself when our world got flipped upside down, I shouldered the responsibility of being Zoey’s only parental figure. She’s my family. She’s all I have left in this world, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
All we need is each other.
Not that it doesn’t hurt to know we’re alone in the world. We still cry over our mom and our brother being dead.
Gage.
Even his name brings pain to my heart as I stomp down the three flights of worn stairs. His memory hurts so much that I’m oblivious to the music blasting from Mrs. Rodrigues’s place and the laughter of the drug den on two. He was too young. He had his whole life ahead of him. I still have nightmares of his face before he opened the car door and ran with open arms and an open heart to the man who snuffed out his light.
Gage was too trusting . . . and now he’s gone.
Zoey is all I have left, and raising a twelve-year-old girl is harder than it seems, especially when you are working constantly to provide for her. I make sure she never goes hungry, even when I do. Sure, my lack of money means her clothes are often tattered, and I’m not stupid, I know she gets picked on in school. But God bless her, she never complains. No, she smiles. She never did that before, and it’s the only thing keeping me going, knowing I’m doing right by her. I don’t care that I’m giving up my life for hers. All I care about is giving her a better one.
The leaflet of the private school I’ve been trying to get her a scholarship to crinkles in my shoulder bag as I hop down the last step.One day, I promise myself, hiking it higher.
My worn leather jacket keeps the chill away as I step outside, ducking my head. I learned to survive fast here in Hell’s Kitchen. The rules are easy enough to follow considering my upbringing. Don’t make eye contact and do your best to be invisible. It’s pretty simple to do when I’ve been practicing these same rules for most of my life. I follow them to a T. Besides, all I do is work, cook, and pass out over and over again until each day becomes a blurred repetition of the other. I bother no one, and no one bothers me. I like it that way. What I don’t like is this horrendously uncomfortable uniform I have to wear to work every day. The stiff, skintight fabric itches every patch of skin it touches as I walk quickly toward the diner.
I can’t be late again.
The three hours of sleep I got after staying up to help Zoey with her homework and cooking for her still wasn’t enough.
Sighing, I watch the cracks on the pavement as I walk. It could be worse. But my back aches, reminding me that at just twenty-one, I’m already showing wear from the lack of sleep and nutrients. The pain gets worse every day. I know what’s causing it, but the solution is for me to eat properly. I can’t afford to, and my inability to eat three square meals a day shows. My bones stick from my skin, and my rib cage can easily be seen through my shirt, but all the money I earn goes to rent, utilities, and food. Medicine, too, when I can afford it.